


fall right back to you

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 13:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16517738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: Spock questions his place in the universe as Kirk struggles to name this unspoken feeling steadily building between them.They discover—together, as always—that the answers they both seek are one and the same.





	fall right back to you

**Author's Note:**

> Based on and inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPHhNuSdrYE).

 

 

* * *

  ** _High dive into frozen waves_**

** _Where the past comes back to life_ **

* * *

  

The screams of his crew are drowned out as he dives. Instantly, the piercing sensation of the ice-cold water hits him like a million needles all over his skin, and he barely manages to keep in the breath that almost gets knocked out of his lungs at the impact. 

His body goes into hypothermia almost instantly, and the numbing cold clears his mind with one devastating realisation: _Spock can’t survive this._

The thought shoots through him like a phaser and instantly powers him with energy he has no idea he had as he kicks his legs and dives deeper, reaching out for the desert-bred Vulcan body sinking before him and going into hypothermia at a much faster rate than his own human body.

He latches onto Spock’s wrist, cursing the Vulcan’s thrice-than-normal weight pulling them both down, and kicks his legs blindly upward. His lungs are burning, his extremities are screaming in pain, and just when he can’t _breathe_ anymore, he bursts through the surface.

Sulu and Chekov are instantly there, grabbing them both and hauling them from the freezing water to much more solid ice; his teeth instantly chatters and he can’t even feel his mouth anymore, yet with all the breath that’s left in his body he summons all his strength and yells:

“ _Bones_!”

McCoy’s voice rings out crisp and clear: “ _McCoy to Enterprise! Five to beam up now! Now now NOW!”_

The familiar sensation of his molecules dissolving and rearranging themselves pulses through him; the warmth of the transporter pad is both a sudden comfort and an unbearable torment in the abrupt change in temperature. Sulu and Chekov are on either side of him, helping him up, and in a fit of irrational panic he twists out of their grasp, surprising them both with the strength he still has as he desperately cries, “Bones, he’s dying! _Spock’s dying_!”

“ _Nurse_!” McCoy barks out the command; Chapel appears out of nowhere, and he barely even feels the hypodermic needle being injected in his neck as he begs, “Save him, _please_ …”

An image flashes before him, unbidden: warm brown eyes, undeniably human even beneath startlingly Vulcan eyebrows, gazing at him with unfathomable sadness, simultaneously familiar and foreign as they belong to a much older Spock—one who isn’t _his_ , who is not of this timeline—and Jim Kirk’s last conscious thought is:

_You weren’t supposed to die first._

 

* * *

** _Fight fear for the selfish pain_ **

** _It was worth it every time_ **

* * *

  

McCoy finds him already awake when the doors to his private room in sickbay slides open. The doctor looks immeasurably tired, wearied beyond his years, and even as a pang of sympathy shoots through Kirk and his muscles still feel like jelly, his tone brooks no argument as he says quietly: “Take me to him.”

McCoy takes one look at him, gaze hardening as he sees Kirk wobbling on his feet, and it’s a testament to their history together that his friend knows better than to argue with him. Instead, McCoy silently steps forward and, with remarkable gentleness, steadies him as he brusquely announces: “He’s in the other room.”

They hobble together, Kirk gritting his teeth at the indignity of McCoy carrying nearly all his weight, yet as soon as the door next to his slides open, he is thankful for his friend’s physical support as he feels his legs give out at the sight that greets him.

McCoy tightens his grip. “He’s sleeping, Jim,” he murmurs. “That’s his Vulcan healing trance. He’s gonna be okay.”

Wordlessly, Kirk allows himself to be led next to the bed where Spock lays, unnaturally pale and eerily still like a frozen corpse. Shakily, Kirk reaches out to touch Spock’s face, spreading his fingers in a clumsy approximation of how he sees the Vulcan do it, and wishes, not for the first time, that humans aren’t a psi-null species, because he desperately needs to _feel_ Spock right now, to ascertain for himself that Spock isn’t leaving him anytime soon.

That he’s not going to _lose_ him.

He can feel McCoy watching him keenly.  “Do you know what makes you a good Captain, Jim?” the doctor suddenly asks. Kirk supposes it’s a rhetorical question, because McCoy continues without even waiting for his answer. “It’s because you would do anything to save your crew. I know, without a doubt, that if it was me or Uhura or any other Enterprise crew who fell through the ice, you still would’ve done what you did.”

Kirk moves his hand from Spock’s face and rests it on his chest, below his sternum, where Spock’s heart would have been if he were human.

Beneath his fingers, Kirk feels… nothing.

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen you risk your life for your crew. It’s not the first time anyone from the Enterprise nearly died from a dangerous mission.” McCoy continues quietly. “But I only ever see you like this with Spock.”

Kirk’s throat bobs as he swallows. Trembling, he moves his hand lower and presses it against the side of Spock’s torso, right beneath his ribs.

“Like what?” he whispers.

And there, _there_ is the throbbing pulse of Spock’s Vulcan heart, beating blissfully against his palm, thrumming with _life_.

“Like it will destroy you to lose him.”

Kirk squeezes his eyes shut, shuddering at the ringing truth of McCoy’s words as it reverberates through his bones.

“Jim,” McCoy’s tone turns impossibly, inexplicably gentle. “As Chief Medical Officer of this ship, it’s my duty to ask.”

He feels the doctor lay a hand hesitantly on his shoulder.

“Are you emotionally compromised over your First Officer?”

Kirk’s eyes flutter open as he looks up at his longest, oldest friend. He reaches up, covers McCoy’s hand with his own, and grasps it firmly in wordless gratitude and mute plea.

“Keep him alive,” Kirk declares softly, “so I won’t have to be.”

 

* * *

  ** _Hold still right before we crash_**

** _‘Cause we both know how this ends_ **

* * *

 

“While your innate bravery and penchant for self-sacrifice is commendable as always, Captain,” Spock intones, remarkably calm amidst the shrill alarm blasting all around them, “it is unnecessary in this situation.” 

Kirk clenches his teeth as he struggles to keep himself steady in his seat, the metal belts keeping him firmly secured chafing against his uniform as the ship continues to rattle precariously.  “Whatever happened to ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’?”

The glaring red lights flash starkly against the paleness of Spock’s skin, making the strong lines of his cheekbones and his jaw stand out in sharp relief as he remains hyper-focused on deciphering the alien controls. “I assure you, Captain, I have not forgotten the purview of that wisdom.”

Kirk barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Well thank god for Vulcan eidetic memory.” He slams his fist uselessly on the control panel before him that’s absolutely refusing to cooperate. It beeps loudly in protest, making him cringe; he thinks he may have broken it even more.

“The way you are employing sarcasm suggests that you are angry with me,” Spock observes as one of the screens flash brightly before him, making Kirk’s mouth fall open in shock; by some stroke of mad Vulcan genius, Spock has actually been able to crack the code in its alien language to access the controls. “It is understandable. You are welcome to detain me in the brig for insubordination when we get back to the Enterprise.”

Kirk is _this_ close to pulling out his own hair or wringing the Vulcan’s neck, whichever his hands reach first. “Isn’t that _exactly_ what I’ve been ordering you to do for the past ten minutes?”

“Seventeen point two six minutes, to be precise,” Spock smoothly corrects. “Given that it is an illogical order made in the height of emotion, I elect to not acknowledge it, even as I accept my violation of protocol and any consequences it entails.”

Kirk grabs Spock’s shoulder and yanks him around to face him. “How is ordering you to abandon ship with the hostages we just freed _illogical_ when we are currently _about to crash on an alien planet?_ ”

Spock’s eyes flash fiercely before he shakes Kirk’s hand off his shoulder with one sharp movement. “While the liberated victims have already boarded the evacuation shuttles together with our away team and are currently en-route to the Enterprise, there will not be enough time to save the living beings _on_ the planet if we are unable to seize control of this ship.”

“Better to gamble on the higher probability of saving as many lives as we _can_ than the impossibility of _flying an alien_ _ship we’ve never flown before_!”

“Vulcans do not gamble.”

“ _Then what the_ fuck _are you doing, Commander?!_ ”

The bridge shakes ominously in warning. On the console, the blinking numbers are swiftly changing, indicating the alarming speed in which the ship is going down.

Spock meets his gaze—and holds. “I am staying.”

Something inside his chest abruptly loosens; Kirk feels boneless as all the tightly-wound tension unravels from his limbs, and the air rushes out of his lungs like a deflated balloon.  A detached contentment settles over him at the realisation that his imminent death doesn’t actually scare him compared to the thought of actually dying alone.

Kirk wrenches his gaze away; he isn’t sure he can look at Spock any longer without feeling he might break _._ “You’re saying you wanna die with me, Spock?”

Spock calmly turns his attention back on the controls and purposely begins adjusting them. Before them on-screen, the planet’s surface is approaching at a breakneck pace.

“It is not my wish to perish,” Spock declares quietly. “But if it will be by your side, Jim…”

Heart leaping to his throat, Kirk’s eyes are wide as he stares at his First Officer.

“… then I consider it my privilege.”

 

* * *

** _Our clock ticks till it breaks your glass_ **

** _And I drown in you again_ **

* * *

 

Kirk pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut at the impending migraine he can already feel coming on. “Mister Spock,” he mutters tiredly.

“Captain,” is the even response.

Kirk takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down before he says anything stupid. He meets Spock’s infuriatingly steady gaze, and he can’t help it; he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at his First Officer through the impenetrable glass between them.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you’re in the brig?”

Spock arches an eyebrow at him but maintains his perfect parade rest, somehow managing to paradoxically be compliant and defiant at the same time. “Starfleet Protocol Four Six One Two mandates a disciplinary action to be undertaken after a violation of insubordination by any crew, including senior and commanding officers.”

Kirk opens his mouth, finds himself at a loss for words, and closes it again with an audible click. He gapes, trying to wrap his mind around Spock’s ridiculous logic. “Right,” he says slowly, enunciating each word carefully, “because you _refused_ to follow my order to save _yourself_ along with the rest of our crew and the hostages we freed, and you instead elected to stay _with_ me on board the Bajoran ship we basically hijacked, which _you_ somehow managed to take control of and stop from crashing on the planet, which in turn saved the lives of the people living _in_ Bajor as well. _That_ order.”

The eyebrow comes down, and Kirk _swears_ that’s a glint of amusement in Spock’s eyes. “Precisely.”

Kirk scrubs his face in his hands to stop himself from giving in to the temptation to thunk his head against the glass, which won’t look very professional of him to the Chief of Security who’s casually lounging at his station several feet away, supposedly keeping watch but really just surreptitiously eavesdropping. “Spock,” he mumbles through the gaps between his fingers, “you do realise that _your_ commanding officer, namely _me,_ ” he points emphatically at his own chest, “needs to actually, you know, _make_ the order first to throw you in the brig?”

He can see from the reflection on the glass the way Lieutenant Hendorff ducks his head and bites his lip in an effort to keep a straight face. Kirk scowls.

Spock tilts his head. “I possessed the foresight to save you the time and effort, Captain, as the prudent thing to do at this point is to follow the protocol of discipline as dictated in the Starfleet manual.”

Kirk places his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes. “And I suppose you already contacted Admiral Pike for the disciplinary hearing you’ll no doubt be facing when we rendezvous at the nearest Starbase.”

Silence. His cheeky First Officer blinks at him with an all-too-innocent look.

“Spock. I was _kidding_.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth quirks. “Starfleet Protocol Three Seven Five Nine also necessitates an immediate report to the Head of Starfleet following a successful rescue mission. You were understandably occupied in looking after the well-being of the Bajorans currently recuperating aboard the Enterprise, and as your First Officer, I had surmised that this particular duty of reporting to Admiral Pike had now befallen to me, regarding the details of what transpired in Bajor, including my unfortunate insubordination.”

“Unfortunate,” Kirk repeats in disbelief. Behind him, Hendorff fails to muffle a snort. Kirk glances at the ceiling, praying for patience. “And what did the Admiral have to say about that?”

“I consulted Doctor McCoy thereafter regarding the Admiral’s mental state as he spent the rest of the transmission inexplicably laughing.”

Kirk’s lips twitch as he struggles to _not_ smile.  “And how did Bones react to _that_?”

Spock gives a barely perceptible huff. “He referred me instead to Doctor M’Benga as he incorrectly concluded that it was _my_ mental state that needed inquiring after.”

The grin breaks through. “Well, Bones isn’t wrong.”

The Vulcan shoots him a severely unimpressed look.

“Spock,” Kirk sobers. “Why didn’t you just leave me on that ship? Everyone was already safe, and I could’ve figured out a way to avoid crashing onto the planet, though I guess,” he rubs the back of his neck as his gaze drops to the floor, suddenly sheepish and overcome with self-doubt, “you were right in assuming I wasn’t smart or skilled enough to crack the code to control it—”

“No,” Spock interjects gently, “that is not the reason, Captain.”

All his words die on his lips as Kirk swallows. He hears the entrance to the brig slide close; Hendorff has quietly slipped out of the room to give them the privacy Kirk has been simultaneously needing and fearing.

Spock may be the one imprisoned, but it’s Kirk who feels trapped as his First Officer steps closer, rooting him to the spot.

“Jim,” Spock murmurs; Kirk shivers at the way the Vulcan tongue wraps tenderly around the single syllable of his human nickname. “I have thought that our years of service together has already proven it, but you must know that I have always had faith in your ability to save all of life, as statistically impossible as that is.” Warm brown eyes soften as they gaze at him. “You have always possessed the remarkable gift of achieving the impossible.” 

Kirk flushes uncomfortably at the unwarranted praise, yet finds himself unable to look away. “I couldn’t do any of it without you,” he returns simply—and feels his heart skip a beat in sudden terror at the depth and intensity of how he means it.

“That,” Spock says softly, “is precisely the reason.”

Mesmerised, Kirk watches as Spock slowly lifts his hand and presses his palm against the glass separating them. “You asked me before if I had known why you could not let me die. Why you went back for me.”

Kirk’s breath is taken by the nauseating wave of déjà vu that overwhelms him. Before him, Spock spreads his fingers in an all too familiar gesture; magnetised, Kirk is helplessly drawn to the pull of Spock’s gravity as he presses his hand against Spock’s.

“Parted from me and never parted,” Spock murmurs; the way he’s looking at the mirror image of their hands with a heavy-lidded gaze is almost like a caress Kirk can tangibly _feel._ “Never and always touching and touched.”

“Spock,” Kirk breathes at the reverence of Spock’s words, despite not quite understanding what they mean.

“Jim,” Spock returns gently, leaning on the barrier between them. “You asked me why I did not, _could_ not leave you.”

That lush, Vulcan mouth curves in a small, tender human smile—and at that moment, Kirk finally, hopelessly loses the battle with himself.

“You have already given the answer,” Spock finishes softly.

Feeling as if his heart might burst from the confines of his chest and find it leaping from his ribs straight through the glass and into Spock’s hands, Kirk closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Spock’s, letting out a deep, shaky breath as he allows himself to tremblingly return the offered gift of genuine emotion as he smiles, too.

He doesn’t say it; he can’t, because it’s too much and not enough at the same time, more than he deserves yet not what he truly desires, wholly and completely.

It’s everything he wants—and everything that stops him from having it.

_Because you are my friend._

 

* * *

  ** _‘Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need_**

** _Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don’t know why_ **

* * *

 

“In retrospect,” Spock offers a tremulous smile, and it’s that devastating sight that breaks through Kirk’s resolve, for Spock never _trembles,_ “I suppose this is divine retribution for what I did to you the first time we met, Captain.” 

“No,” Kirk growls, rage and horror rising in him in equal measure, “Spock, don’t you _dare_.”

“I see no other logical solution.” Spock is visibly shaking now, beads of sweat dripping from his temple despite the below-freezing temperature of the tundra surrounding them, as he fights with all his strength to combat the venomous mind-control slowly seeping through his nervous system by the parasite that has latched on to his nape like a leech. “This particular parasitical alien specimen of Delta Vega preys on telepathic species such as myself, therefore making me… exceptionally vulnerable to them.”

Kirk feels a vice-like clamp squeeze his chest _—_ he has always taken for granted the fact that Spock is undoubtedly the most physically strong among all of them that the sight of Spock _weakening_ before them shoots heart-stopping terror through his veins that nothing else ever did. 

Not even his own death.

“Doctor,” Spock suddenly says to McCoy, who looks grim, “while I am still in control of my physical faculties, you must stop me from doing irreparable damage, if indeed this parasite will use my Vulcan strength to do so.”

“You’re saying we mere humans won’t be a match to you once that happens,” Sulu correctly extrapolates, and Kirk’s heart _sinks_.

“What the hell are you suggesting, Spock?” McCoy roughly demands.

Spock’s chest is heaving with effort—both from battling the parasite determinedly eating away his mental shields, and from the immense difficulty of what he is about to say. “Before I can hurt any one of you, you _must_ kill me.”

“That is out of the question, Commander!” Kirk yells, and it’s only McCoy’s firm grip on his arm that stops him when he strides forward in anger.

“My very first oath as a doctor is to do no harm,” McCoy’s tone is steely and cold. “I’m not about to break that oath. Not even for you, Commander.”

Something seems to crumple in Spock at that; being the one closest to him in proximity, Chekov rushes forward to catch him—

—and is promptly hurtled into the air as Spock lets out a deafening roar that’s downright _animalistic._

It’s only thanks to Sulu’s incredible reflexes that he manages to break Chekov’s fall as they land on a heap in the snow; all four of them turn to the First Officer of the Enterprise with wide, stricken eyes, as Spock stares back at his crew with a startlingly hollow black gaze.

It’s the first time in their entire history together that Kirk feels _afraid._ Not of him—but _for_ him. “Spock...”

Uttering his name seems to snap him out of the parasite’s control for the moment as his eyes melt back to the warm chocolate hue that Kirk has always, _always_ loved.

Those eyes now turn to him in despair.

“Captain,” Spock tries to explain, his breathing laboured as he clutches at the boulder behind him for support, “you _must_ understand, once the parasite has latched onto its host, the relationship instantly becomes symbiotic and codependent, akin to that of a virus—”

“Which means you can’t kill one without killing the other,” McCoy interjects with horrifying clarity.

“You can’t ask us to do that, Commander,” Sulu protests as he helps Chekov to his feet.

“Ve _vill_ not,” Chekov reiterates as he straightens, radiating courage and resolve that Kirk _wishes_ he himself feels.

“Then I order you to leave,” Spock says firmly as he pushes himself forward. “As your Commander—”

Kirk furiously beats him to it. “You are still my subordinate, and I still outrank you, and you can’t give orders I _won’t_ allow!”

They all fall silent. The howl of the snowstorm that blinded them to the parasite’s attack in the first place reverberates all around them like a dying wail.

“Then I do not ask as your First Officer.”

Spock turns to him then. The sadness in those too-human eyes _shatters_ him.

“I ask you as a friend, Jim.”

Spock takes a quivering step toward him. Shaking his head vehemently in denial, Kirk steps back, his protests lodged in his throat.

“Please,” Spock softly begs, “please do not let my dying act be that of the murder of my crew. Do not let me kill my own _family._ ”

Kirk feels all eyes on him, awaiting his command. Fiercely, he surges forward and grips both of Spock’s shoulders to hold him steadily against his own body.

“You once swore to me on that Bajoran ship that you wouldn’t leave me,” he whispers fiercely. “Grant me the courtesy of vowing the same to you.”

Spock’s eyes are wide when Kirk grabs his hand and positions it on his face. “Meld with me,” he demands.

“… What?”

“Keptin?”

“Jim, what the _hell—_ ”

“If we can’t kill this parasite from the outside,” Kirk declares, holding Spock’s flabbergasted gaze firmly with his own, “let’s fight him from _within_.”

“ _Are you out of your corn-fed mind, Jim—”_

“Captain, you run the risk of being infected with the parasite too—”

“You vill be driven _insane_ , Keptin—”

“Then you have my authority to leave us _both_ when that happens.”

“That is the height of _illogic_ Captain, the Enterprise _needs_ you—”

“ _I_ need you, Spock—”

“What will it take for you to _understand,_ Jim, that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of—”

_Do you understand why I went back for you?_

_Because you are my friend._

_What would I do without you, Spock?_

_We will do what we have always done, Jim. We will find hope in the impossible._

_Captain, you almost make me believe in luck._

_Why Mr. Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles._

_I thought I was going to die._

_Not possible. You were never alone._

_You’re saying you wanna die with me, Spock?_

_It is not my wish to perish. But if it will be by your side, Jim… then I consider it my privilege._

The memories explode into each other, and Kirk _screams_.

“ ** _I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU!_** ”

 

* * *

** _If our love is tragedy_ **

** _Why are you my remedy?_ **

* * *

 

The first thing he notices is that he’s standing on two separate worlds: beneath his left foot is dry, crimson-coloured sand; beneath his right, lush greenery on wet soil. Slowly, he turns his gaze skyward, and the dichotomy persists starkly even there: the sky above on his left is a swirl of fire and sandstone, like a permanent sunset; on his right, the sky is a clear cerulean blue, cut through with gentle wisps of white cirrus clouds.

Hesitantly, he begins to trek down a marked path as he notes the difference of the ambient temperature on his skin; the atmosphere on his left is hot and arid, while a cool, humid breeze brushes his arm on his right.

He looks towards the horizon, and his eyes widen at the recognition that strikes him then: on his right are the familiar Terran buildings of San Francisco, while on his left are more imposing structures that he has only seen on data padds his First Officer would spend hours poring over.

His awestruck gaze travels from the towering Terran trees on his right to the giant merlot-coloured rocks on his left—which he has seen up close regretfully only once in his lifetime.

 _Vulcan,_ he thinks in amazement. _I’m standing on Vulcan._ _Or rather… I’m standing on a very clear memory of it._

He stops in his tracks. An _eidetic_ memory.

He swallows, the realisation hitting him all at once. Half of Earth, half of Vulcan… this is the landscape of Spock’s _mind_.

He suddenly, distantly remembers melding with Spock, but for the life of him, he can’t remember _why_. This is nothing like his previous meld with Ambassador Spock, which had been a mere transfer of memories—with the lingering emotions attached to them—but this… this is him being granted access _inside_ Spock’s own thoughts.

He immediately feels a wave of discomfort and guilt at such a gross invasion of privacy, but his brows knit at the persistent, niggling feeling that this is _important_. He’s here because he has _something_ to do here.

But what?

A glittering flash in the distance catches his gaze, distracting him from his own brewing thoughts, and he feels himself being drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Slowly, as he begins walking toward it, the lights begin to take shape, and a gasp escapes his throat as he realises what he’s looking at.

Stars breezing past a viewing deck. The familiar glittering metal components of a starship. There, right in the centre of Spock’s half-Vulcan and half-human consciousness, is the _Enterprise_.

And before the viewing deck stands a solitary figure: breathtaking in the comfort of his familiarity, heart-stopping in the unspeakable loneliness he exudes—

Beloved, unparalleled and all-encompassing, to _Kirk._

His heart skips a beat as he steps closer, overcome by an overwhelming longing to reach out. To _touch._

“Spock.”

Kirk stops. It’s his own voice, but… it’s not coming from _him_. He senses movement out of the corner of his eye—and _stares_ when he sees _himself_ step out of the shadows.

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Captain.”

Kirk’s mouth hangs open as he sees a doppelgänger of himself move closer to where Spock is standing, motionlessly—and seemingly unseeingly—watching the multitude of stars pass by them at warp speed.

The Other Kirk chuckles. “I had a feeling I’d find you here.”

Spock arches an eyebrow—disbelievingly, challengingly. “Your first instinct is to come to the viewing deck?”

“Well, no,” Other Kirk admits. “I stopped by your quarters to see if you were up for a game of chess, since it was still too early to sleep. You weren’t there, and you weren’t answering your comms, so.” He shrugs. “I checked medbay, engineering, the science labs, the mess hall, the training hall, heck, even the bridge—”

“Why were you looking for me, Captain?” Spock quietly interrupts.

Kirk watches the scene unfolding before him, his heart clenching as he realises what he’s seeing.

A memory. That of an unforgettable night nearly thirty-two months ago now.

Why is Spock reliving _this_ particular memory?

He watches the expression on the Other Kirk’s face soften in contemplation. “Because I was worried about you, Spock.”

Spock looks away. “I believe it is not uncustomary for me to leave the festivities early.”

The Other Kirk quirks a wry grin. “Yeah, everyone knows Vulcans aren’t exactly party people. I just thought…”

He watches himself move surreptitiously closer to Spock, offering mute support and solidarity he knows Spock will never outright ask for.

“I just thought you might want to make the most of the time Uhura has left on the Enterprise,” the Other Kirk says gently. “This is her send-off party after all.”

Kirk’s gaze snaps towards the heavens at the rumbling he hears overhead. Both sapphire and ruby skies darken to the opal of a thunderstorm, and Kirk knows instinctively what these rainclouds symbolise to Spock—a desert-bred half-Vulcan whose idea of paradise is an endless summer. The atmosphere of both worlds drop to a chill, biting at Kirk’s skin, and he wraps his arms around himself, shivering at both the cold and at the palpable turmoil of Spock’s internal conflict that Kirk can feel as keenly as if it’s his own.

Spock grips the railing tightly.  “It is… difficult, to see her leave.”

 _Sorrow_ , Kirk suddenly understands. The memory is making Spock feel immeasurable sorrow.

Kirk _aches_ for him.

The Other Kirk feels it too, and he watches himself lay a tentative hand on Spock’s shoulder, channeling whatever comfort he can. “She’s coming back, Spock. She promised me that.” He offers a small smile. “This is just a temporary assignment to the _U.S.S. Excelsior_. She’ll be back after the next shore leave.”

“Even so,” Spock says quietly, “it is equally difficult to be reminded of her reason for leaving.”

To his right, Kirk’s gaze is arrested as another episode unfolds before him. It’s a scene from the shore leave shortly before this night, Kirk realises, as he watches another memory of Spock walking hand in hand with Uhura along the San Francisco bay, the summer sun casting a contented glow on Spock’s upturned face, like a sunflower seeking warmth.

From where Kirk is standing now, he can see the way Uhura is, unbeknownst to Spock, watching him with unfathomable regret, and it’s then that Kirk finally, wordlessly realises what has happened then.

At the time, Kirk had thought they had taken their leave together because Uhura was taking Spock to meet her parents. Through the heaviness of his own heart that he fought hard to conceal, Kirk had sincerely wished them well, and had thoroughly believed Uhura and Spock were finally taking their relationship to another level.

It turns out to be half-true, Kirk supposes. Just… not the level he was expecting. Neither, it seemed, was Spock.

“It’s for the best,” the Other Kirk is saying, as the memory of Spock and Uhura dissolves and Kirk returns his attention to the _Enterprise_ viewing deck. “Both of you need the time to heal.” He watches himself hesitate before adding: “… Separately.”

Thunder rumbles loudly overhead, and Kirk feels how those words had shot straight through Spock’s own heart.

Spock takes a deep breath. “Nyota’s decision to terminate our romantic relationship had been… logical,” he murmurs, more to the stars than to the man beside him. The Other Kirk hears him anyway, and stays respectfully silent, listening. “I am unable to fulfil her emotional needs, and she rightfully deserves someone who can.”

Spock drops his gaze, as if the brightness of the stars is mocking him. “She deserves better than me, for I am not emotional enough. She is right to recognise that.”

The Other Kirk’s lips tighten. “Different perhaps,” he concedes, before firmly adding, “not _better_.”

Spock finally turns to his Captain—his friend. “Your loyalty is appreciated,” he says softly, making the Other Kirk look away at the intensity of Spock’s gaze.

Kirk swallows back a lump in his throat, remembering how he swallowed back the words he wanted to say then.

_What I feel for you, Spock… it goes beyond loyalty._

At the time, he didn’t have a word for what it was that kept him being drawn to Spock—what prompted him to look for him that night, like this. Over the next three years following Uhura’s decision to break up with Spock, that word gradually began to take shape as the feeling, nurtured and cherished for so long, solidified into something deeper, stronger, and clearer… and all the more unspeakable because of it.

Spock, seemingly realising that there is an unspoken boundary that shouldn’t be crossed, gently draws back and returns his attention to the stars before them. Kirk sees him taking a deep breath, seemingly coming to a silent decision, before he finally speaks again.

“The last time I had felt this much… conflict…”

He sees the Other Kirk smile bitterly and remembers what he thought of Spock’s statement then.

_Pain, Spock. It’s okay to admit feeling pain over losing someone you love._

Kirk feels his own heart sting.

“It was after I refused admission to the Vulcan Science Academy,” Spock is saying, his own bitter smile ghosting over his lips. “Right before I joined Starfleet.”

The Other Kirk is looking at him curiously now. “What happened?”

Kirk sees Spock’s eyelids fall close, remembering. To his left, another scene slowly emerges, and he sees Spock in his traditional Vulcan robes standing beneath the entrance to Ambassador Sarek’s home.

Before him, in similar robes, is a Vulcan woman—otherworldly and mesmerising in her sharp, structured beauty—reaching out with two of her fingers. Spock meets them, gently stroking his own index and middle fingers against hers.

Kirk feels a flush overtake him; even though he doesn’t understand the gesture, he instinctively knows he is witnessing something forbiddingly… _intimate_.

“In direct contrast to Nyota’s reasoning,” Spock murmurs as his eyes flutter open on the _Enterprise_ , not even bothering to hide the self-deprecation in his tone, “I was informed by T’Pring that I was not logical enough to be her bondmate. I was too… emotional.”

The Other Kirk’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “T’Pring?”

Kirk watches as the Vulcan woman slowly withdraws her hand from Spock’s and raises it instead in a _ta’al._

“Live long and prosper,” she intones, and though Vulcans are believed to be incapable of showing emotion, Kirk has known one enough to discern the immense sadness in her eyes.

He recognises it, because it’s the same emotion reflected on Spock at that moment as he stands on the _Enterprise_. “My betrothed.”

Thunder cracks loudly overhead before the rain finally begins to pour, drenching Kirk immediately, even as Spock and the Other Kirk remain perfectly dry on the _Enterprise_.

Kirk recognises this rain for what it is.

“Spock,” the Other Kirk says softly, solemnly, “I am… so, so sorry.”

The anguish Kirk feels secondhand from Spock himself magnifies tenfold as the dual heartbreak Spock is reliving crashes over him too. The cold seeps through his clothes and settles beneath his skin as he now _feels_ more intimately how deeply—and painfully—Spock means his next words.

“I have deeply cared for only two women in my lifetime, and yet for both of them I am simultaneously too much, and not enough.”

Kirk feels the chill straight through his own heart, the ache almost _unbearable_. “Spock…” he whispers.

Spock doesn’t seem to hear him as he continues to speak almost tonelessly to the Other Kirk beside him, belying the true nature of his internal storm. “I am either too emotional and not Vulcan enough, or I am too logical and not human enough.”

He drops his head and holds on to the railings tightly, as if desperately drawing strength he doesn’t know where else to get. “I do not begrudge my mother and father the bond that they had, nor the fulfilment they had found in each other, but as a result of their union, I have become the only half-human, half-Vulcan in the universe. I am the only one of my kind, and I—”

Spock breaks off unexpectedly as he swallows. Both Kirk and his doppelgänger are staring at him, waiting with bated breath for him to continue, but it’s only Kirk who hears the words echoing inside Spock—the words he had never been able to speak out loud that night.

_I am the only one of my kind, and I have never felt so alone._

Heart aching, _breaking_ for Spock, Kirk can’t help but step forward towards him—and finds his path blocked by an invisible barrier.

“What the hell?” he sputters as he raises both his fists and thumps against something _solid._

“What is it like not to feel anger?”

Kirk freezes. That’s _his_ voice, coming from the Other Kirk, and those are _his_ words, but… he hasn’t spoken them to Spock in a very, very long time.

It dawns on Kirk that he has only said those words exactly once, several years and seemingly a lifetime ago, right after…

Kirk’s eyes widen. Right after the destruction of Vulcan.

“Or heartbreak?”

Before him, the Other Kirk slowly turns to face Spock—and Kirk finds himself stepping back in shock as he looks in horror at _himself._

Scales have appeared on the Other Kirk’s skin, which has transformed into a sickening shade of lilac. The whites of his eyes have now turned red, and his normally blue irises have now mutated into a nauseating, toxic neon green.

Most horrific of all are the bulging movements beneath the Other Kirk’s command gold uniform, which suddenly rips apart at the multiple appendages that have sprouted from his torso, transforming the Other Kirk into what looks like a—

A _parasite._

Kirk inhales sharply as it hits him all at once. _This_ is what he has come here to fight.

Spock himself seems rooted to the spot as he stares at the Kirk-parasite in alarm. “Jim?”

Hearing his name uttered so helplessly snaps Kirk out of his stupor. He pounds at the barrier angrily, which he has now realised is made of ice _._ “ _Spock_!”

“You feel nothing,” the Kirk-parasite continues to declare; its tentacle-like limbs have now wound themselves around Spock’s wrists, ankles, and neck. “It must not _compute_ for you,” it mocks Spock in a terrible parody of what Kirk once falsely accused him so long ago.

With a sadistic smile, the Kirk-parasite draws its tentacles closer to its body and brings Spock flush against itself. It brings its scaly pink fingers against Spock’s jaw to hold his face steady as it spoke.

“You _never_ loved her.”

Both scenes reappeared simultaneously before Kirk in a flash of lightning, and Kirk watches as the images of both Uhura and T’Pring walk away from Spock at the same time—in opposite directions.

“That is…” Spock chokes out as he clutches futilely at the tentacles steadily asphyxiating him, “ _not_ true…”

The Kirk-parasite laughs. “Indeed, Commander? Then perhaps the opposite is what holds true.”

It leans forward and, with a flick of its scaly tongue, murmurs against Spock’s lips:

“ _They_ never loved _you._ ”

Spock lets out a deafening scream, either from the agony of the words or from the way the Kirk-parasite’s tentacles are beginning to _burn_ through his skin, hissing like acid. With a roar, Kirk rears back to punch against the barrier, yet it barely makes a dent. Madness takes over Kirk as he punches the ice again and again and _again_ , unheeding the way the bones of his knuckles are cracking and the skin of his hands are bleeding.

“ _SPOCK!_ ”

“And why would they?” the Kirk-parasite continues to jeer; with a start, Kirk realises that both the Earth and Vulcan worlds of Spock’s mindscape are now blanketed in snow, as the rumble of the thunderstorm has now transformed completely into the howl of a snowstorm.

Kirk’s eyes are wide as his surroundings begin to resemble that of Delta Vega. The parasite is beginning to completely take over Spock’s _mind._

“No… _no,_ not Spock… don’t—! _”_

Kirk whips around as Spock lets out another blood-curdling cry, and he looks in horror as the Kirk-parasite’s tentacles begin to _sink_ through Spock’s body, moulding him into its own.

Spock _screams_ —and everything suddenly goes _quiet._

The viewing deck of the _Enterprise_ morphs and splits into two images side by side: engineering, and the brig.

On both scenes, Kirk and Spock are separated by a glass barrier. 

In engineering, as Kirk lays dying, he struggles to tell Spock one last time.

 _“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. Why I went back for you._ ”

And in the brig, Spock presses his hand against the glass and looks at Kirk as if—

… As if he’s the most precious being in the whole universe.

_“You asked me before if I had known why you could not let me die. Why you went back for me.”_

Kirk watches both scenes play out simultaneously—and suddenly, _finally_ understands.

_“You have already given the answer.”_

Both scenes abruptly dissolve as Spock gasps against the tentacles compressing around his throat. “You are neither human, nor Vulcan,” the Kirk-parasite coolly declares, “and therefore have no place in the universe.”

The parasite tightens its hold on Spock. Kirk’s hands tighten into fists.

“Yes,” he quietly declares, “he does.”

The ice barrier between them _shatters_.

“What—?” the Kirk-parasite manages to sputter in shock as it looks up at Kirk walking menacingly towards it.

“You will let him go,” Kirk calmly tells his parasite doppelgänger, and the tentacles find themselves retracting at the heat and light radiating from Kirk in waves.

“You will not lay claim to him,” he continues to walk forward as the alien parasite continues to shrink back. “Not his mind, his body, his soul, his katra, and definitely not his heart.”

The parasite begins to lose Kirk’s physical form as it starts to grow smaller, bringing its appendages up to shield itself from Kirk. “But why?” it whines.

Kirk stops. He looks over his shoulder at Spock, who is kneeling on the ground and catching his breath, and smiles.

“Because he is my friend.”

Spock’s eyes widen, because as Kirk lingers on the word “friend”, another word echoes around them, ancient and timeless, from the heavens to the earth and the trees and the rocks and all around Spock’s mind, as it finally gives word to this unspoken feeling building inside Kirk for years. 

_T’hy’la._

Kirk rounds on the parasite again, which is now whimpering pitifully on the ground. “He has been and always shall be _mine,_ ” he declares.

He raises his foot as the parasite looks on in horror.

“Mine to protect.”

The parasite lets out a gruesome wail of defeat as Kirk stomps on it once.

“Mine to cherish.”

Twice.

“Mine—to _love_.”

With a final cry, Kirk crushes the parasite, grinding it into dust beneath him.

The howling of the winds begin to die down. The air begins to warm, the skies begin to clear, and the snow begins to melt around them. Slowly, Kirk loosens the clench of his fists as he heaves a sharp inhale, struggling to catch his breath. 

“Jim,” Spock calls out softly as he manages to stand. Immediately, Kirk rushes to catch him as he falls weakly into Kirk’s arms.

“ _Jim_ ,” Spock says again, seemingly unable to utter anything else, endless intricate questions woven into his singular name, and Kirk smiles as he presses a kiss to Spock’s temple.

“You do have a place in the universe, Spock.”

Gently, he cups Spock’s face in both his hands and tilts it up toward his.

“By my side,” he whispers. “As if you’ve always been there. And always will.”

 

* * *

  ** _If our love is insanity_**

** _Why are you my clarity?_ **

* * *

 

 

 


End file.
